


For The Rest Of Your Days

by allineedistwentygoodmen (sirtwentyofhousegoodmen)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Black Sheep Dog Universe, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Not Canon Compliant, POV Alphard Black, Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtwentyofhousegoodmen/pseuds/allineedistwentygoodmen
Summary: November, 1976. On his deathbed, a conflicted Alphard Black has an enlightening conversation with his Aunt Cassiopeia.
Relationships: Alphard Black & Cassiopeia Black, Alphard Black & Walburga Black, Cassiopeia Black & Marius Black, Cassiopeia Black & Pollux Black
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	For The Rest Of Your Days

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this one's depressing. Strap yourselves in, folks.
> 
> Massive thanks to MarieKavanagh for proofreading!
> 
> FYI: Because Rowling's Black Family Tree, in terms of the ages, is pure insanity, I had to change them to make sense.  
> In this fic, Pollux is born in 1903, Cassiopeia in 1905, and Marius in 1909.

_A home…what was a home? Had he ever known one, besides here? He thought of the flat, before Regulus had shown up on his doorstep. As anonymous and bleak a place as anywhere in London, a hole in the wall to sleep and eat, not rest._

_Home…did anyone in his family even understand the concept?_

_Of course. Even Uncle Alphard came home to die._

_-Black Mask, Chapter 20_

* * *

Through the skylight in his bedroom, Alphard could see the stars in their constellations, his ancestors’ namesakes, lighting up the night sky with their ethereal glow. The house tonight was deathly quiet, which to most, would mean a chance at sleep. To Alphard, who’d been confined to bedrest everyday, it meant a chance at freedom. Gathering all his strength, he sat up, put on his slippers, and silently tiptoed out of his bedroom to get a reprieve from the dull life of a man on his deathbed.

The hallway, thankfully, appeared to be completely empty. He hoped to make it to the Solarium without waking up the whole house by coughing. The Basilisk Lung had already taken most of his mobility, he'd be damned if it took away his nightly excursions to the Solarium.

Basilisk Lung, ugly name for an ugly sickness: extremely rare, and, once it got a proper hold of you, terminal. According to the healer who'd visited yesterday, he had at most 3 weeks left until he succumbed to it, which, at this point, was mercy. The constant fits of coughing were some of the worst pain he’d ever experienced in his life, he’d lost so much weight that he was looking damn near skeletal, and it left him bedridden. Well, most of the time.

Though sneaking out of one’s childhood bedroom was rather unbecoming when they were almost 50, at this point it was a familiar routine he followed after everybody went to sleep. Mother had insisted that he stay on bed rest, only getting up to use the toilet and to wash. 

_“To save your strength,”_ she’d said.

He’d wanted to reply that he was going to die anyway, so he might as well do it not bored out his wits, but he knew how it would’ve upset her so he opted to keep his mouth shut.

His light footsteps were the only sound he could hear, until he felt a tickle in his throat that usually signified another coughing fit. Stilling, he leaned himself up against the wall, silently praying that it wouldn't be as severe as most of them were, lest he wake everyone up and spoil the evening for himself. Though they weren't exactly quiet nor painless, only two coughs came out, and the hand he'd placed to his mouth had mercifully blocked out most of the noise. 

The house was thankfully still quiet, so he continued on his way. For the past month he’d been staying at his childhood home: Neptune House, aptly named due to its location right on the beach. This was the largest out of all the Black Residences, and also the least terrifying. Though it didn’t carry the same prestige that Grimmauld Place or Noire House did due to its relatively recent acquisition 80 years ago, the atmosphere was far less suffocating. The walls were painted a jovial shade of cream with gilded panels, rather than the foreboding blue-gray most of the other houses were, the floor was a lovely light oak instead of that dreary dark walnut, and there were barely any of those blasted portraits that sneered down at you every time you sneezed.

Cygnus and Walburga had been staying here for the past two weeks, as well. Mother had practically forced them to. She’d wailed about how it was the last time all her children would be under one roof, and Cygnus, as always, relented at the first sight of her tears. Walburga took a bit more convincing, as she’d stubbornly insisted she would just visit everyday, but all it took was one venomous glare from their mother to quell any notions of that happening. Orion, Lucretia, and rather unfortunately, Druella, visited frequently, but once the sun set, it was only the five of them. If he weren't dying, he'd be tempted to say it was just like the old days.

As he turned towards the east wing of the house, he stopped at the sight of a light peeking out underneath the door to Walburga’s room, a frown pulling down his face. Burgie never stayed up this late, usually turning in at nine on-the-dot like the clucking mother hen she’d become.

On the one hand, he wanted to keep walking, Walburga had never been overly fond of him, and for all he knew she would go straight to mother when she saw him. But on the other hand, that wouldn’t be likely, as she’d probably be too terrified to think of waking up mother. And, he was curious.

Ultimately, his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the door. Walburga was sat down at her writing desk, poring over a sheet of parchment. Her head snapped up at the sound of the door creaking.

“Alphard!” she exclaimed, standing up so quickly that her chair scraped the floor quite loudly.

“Shhhh, be quiet,” he whispered, “Do you want to wake the dragon?” 

At the reference to their mother, Walburga’s eyes widened, and she seemed to shrink slightly. Sitting back down, she glared at him. 

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed!” she whispered.

“I was bored,” he shrugged, leaning on the wall. “Why are you still awake?”

She glared at him once more, but ultimately deflated. 

“I’m replying to a letter Regulus sent.”

_Ah, that’s why._ This was the first year that Regulus was to be at Hogwarts since Sirius’s disgrace, and Burgie had always had trouble communicating with her children, particularly her youngest. With Sirius, she'd just scream and he screamed back, but she couldn't follow that rule with Regulus, the poor boy would burst into tears.

Sighing, he walked toward her, “And how is my godson?”

“Fine,” she answered shortly, picking up her quill.

“Come now, Burgie, surely I can get some more information than that,” he flashed her his winning smile, but all it earned him was a stubborn scowl.

_God, she hasn’t changed one bit._ No matter how she tried to play the role of the dignified matron, she was still that same stubborn girl he’d grown up with. The girl who his mother had forced into wearing those pretty white dresses, and who as vengeance, would play every single day in the muck and mire, coming back to the house covered in dirt, jutting her chin out defiantly to their mother’s horror; The girl who’d chased her last governess out the front doors of Neptune House in tears, laughing with Lucretia as the poor woman ran away yelling incoherently about _‘that demon child’_.

At these thoughts, he began chuckling to himself, but unfortunately that chuckle soon turned into one of his more severe coughing fits, and he began doubling over in pain, desperately clutching to the paneling on the wall to keep from falling over. 

Walburga’s eyes widened, and she immediately crouched down to help him.

“Are you alright?” she asked in a concerned voice, “Do you need water, should I summon Kreacher?”

Alphard’s coughs gradually lessened to the point where he was able to reply, “No, I’m—“ he cleared his throat, “—I’m alright, really,” he smiled in a manner meant to be reassuring, but more than likely it came out as a grimace.

She stood up, walked towards her dresser and took out a towel, handing it to him wordlessly.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"You have blood on your mouth, and on your hands too."

Cursing himself, along with his blasted lungs, he wiped off the blood he'd coughed up as best he could. When he went to hand the towel back to Walburga, she shook her head profusely, insisting he take it.

"Are you alright? Truly?" she pressed, haughty face pinched with concern.  


"I'm fine, Burgie," he lied, "Shipshape."

"What?" she tilted her head to the side.

"Nothing, just an expression, I'm fine though, really." 

The way she was looking at him clearly indicated she didn’t believe a word he was saying, but after he stood up and regained his balance, she let the matter drop. 

As she sat back down at her desk, she eyed him once more before dipping her quill into the pot of ink and finishing the letter.

Alphard, recovered from the bout of coughing and still curious, leaned over to catch a few words of what Walburga was writing, and was able to glean the last few words of the letter before she noticed and quickly rolled up the parchment.

_—your studies, and make us proud. I trust you will continue to conduct yourself in a manner befitting of your station, as you always have._

_With regards, Your loving Mother,_

_W.B._

“Alphard!” she whisper-shouted, as close as she could get to yelling without risking waking up their mother. 

“I was curious!” he defended himself, hands outstretched.

“Curiosity is no excuse for such a wanton disregard for privacy!” she chastised, in a voice that was far too similar to Irma Black’s.

“Alright, alright, I apologize.”

Glaring at him fiercely, she let out a frustrated growl before grabbing the candle beside her, rotating it so as to let the wax fall on the letter.

Suddenly, he remembered something he saw on the parchment. Oh, Walburga would _murder_ him, but he couldn’t resist. 

“Although,” he said, the smile discernible in his voice, “I do believe you missed something in there.”

“What?” she replied irritably.

“I think it was…a letter in your initials?”

Walburga’s jaw noticeably tensed, and she gripped the candle so hard he was surprised it didn’t snap in half.

“I do not know what it is you’re speaking of,” she answered, voice practically dripping with a warning.

“No, I think it was a letter…a ‘C’, perhaps? No, that’s not right,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Oh, I know, a ‘D’! Yes, that’s it!” 

“Alphard…” she growled.

“—Walburga **_Desdemona_** Black,”

“Alphard!” she yelled this time, not caring whether it woke Irma up, “You know I hate that name!”

He laughed, beside himself. “Oh please, Burgie, it isn’t that bad,”

“Isn’t that bad?!” she repeated incredulously, “Not only does it sound horrid, but to be named after some Venetian strumpet—“ 

_“—Venetian strumpet—_ is that anyway to address one of the Bard’s most beloved characters?” he replied, jestingly.

Desdemona—One of the main roles in _Othello_ , a Venetian senator’s daughter who’d eloped with the titular character of the play against her father’s wishes. Truthfully, it was rather ironic Walburga so disapproved of her behavior, because if their father hadn’t betrothed her to Orion, she would’ve most likely followed in the footsteps of her middle-namesake just to escape their family.

“You’re insufferable,” she groaned, grabbing the wax seal stamp, embossed with the family crest of course, and pressing it down a little more forceful than necessary onto the melted wax.

He smiled sadly, “Glad to see one thing hasn’t changed,” though his voice didn’t contain much of the humor it did before, instead it'd been replaced by a deep longing: For the days when Burgie would slam the door in his face; For the days when Cygnus would sulk after mother rebuked him for eating too much; For the days when Father would indulge him with stories of travel and adventure. These were the last days of his life, and he found that all he wanted was to go back to the first ones. But how could that happen? Cygnus and Walburga weren't those children he remembered anymore, they were married, with children of their own. And Alphard... Alphard was alone. 

Walburga, picking up on the abrupt change in his tone, awkwardly cleared her throat, “Yes, well, you should go back to bed. You’re on strict orders to rest.”

Snapping himself out of those maudlin thoughts, he snorted dismissively, “I rest all day. Don’t fret, dear sister, I’m only going to the Solarium. I’ll be back in a half-hour.”

Though she hesitated slightly, ultimately she acquiesced, “Fine then, it’s your funeral,” she grimaced immediately at her poor choice of words, but Alphard only laughed.

“That it is, Burgie. That it is.”

* * *

As he walked out of Walburga's room and continued to the Solarium, he couldn't help but think to himself about that abrupt feeling of melancholy fighting with his sister had brought on. What did he want? More life? More time with his family?

Perhaps it was a mistake to travel for so long, perhaps he should’ve done what his mother begged him to do and planted some roots. Found a woman, gotten married, had children. Though, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine himself as a husband, or father. Though he'd certainly gotten the chance.

On his eighteenth birthday, his mother had introduced him to some Yaxley girl: Arabella-Isabella-he couldn’t remember. Pretty, in a common sort of way, but dreadfully dull. Parading her on his arm at the celebration father had thrown him, he saw the future: An endless string of balls and cocktail parties, false conversations with even falser people. He knew he had to get out, but didn’t want to go the way that Great-Aunt Cedrella or all the other scorchees did. 

So, the following day, he informed his family of his intentions to travel and sow his wild oats. Mother had seen him off with a kiss and a reminder to return as soon as possible so they could go through some potential matches for him. Each time he returned, he made up some excuse to avoid the matter, promising to come back to it next time. It wasn’t until Cygnus married Druella that he was seemingly let off the hook, though mother did still badger him about it every once in a while.

Wherever these feelings came from, it was no use to dwell on them now. He wasn't much longer for this world, and dwelling over what could've been was a massive waste of time. He was home, surrounded by the people he loved. They weren't perfect, but they were his. He couldn't ask for anything else, nor did he want it.

Snapping out of his reveries, he realized that he'd reached the doors of the Solarium. He grabbed the brass doorknobs, taking care to open and close them both quietly.

Taking in the sight before him, he let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding in forever. The Solarium was his favorite place in the house, and the most beautiful. The glass walls and ceiling let in all the light of the sun and the glow of the moon, while displaying a clear view of the ocean. 

He’d spent most of his time here as a child. Walburga preferred the outdoors, always swimming, climbing trees, running through the gardens; While Cygnus had always gravitated toward the kitchens, nicking sweets from Kreacher. Mother had stopped the practice once she’d noticed Cygnus getting a bit round in the middle, instructing Kreacher to slap his hand away whenever he made a move for the treats. But Alphard, he seldom left this room before Hogwarts, often content just to sit back and listen to the sounds of the waves crashing, or watch Burgie and Lucy playing on the beach. 

A soft ‘meow’ interrupted his reminiscing, and he turned just to see an orange cat leaping onto one of the sofas. _Mars,_ one of Aunt Cassiopeia’s. The voice of the owner in question followed suit.

“Mars,” she whispered in that unsettlingly airy voice of hers, “Mars.”

“He’s in here, Aunt Cass,” Alphard whispered.

His maiden aunt emerged out of the shadows, looking the exact same as the last time he saw her, five years ago. Her grey hair was still done up in that old-fashioned Gibson Girl bun; She wore that same tatty old shawl around her shoulders; All those old, faded rings of hers still adorned her wrinkled fingers. She’d apparently come earlier in the day to say goodbye to her nephew, but it had already been late when she’d arrived so father insisted she spend the night. Mother knew that he didn’t particularly enjoy her company, as she was rather batty, so she made some excuse about him being too tired to see her and postponed the farewell to tomorrow. _Well, that clearly backfired._

Aunt Cass was an odd one, to say the least. She always wore this vacant expression, and she barely spoke. When she did, her voice seldom went above a whisper. According to father, in her youth she’d been a very charming and intelligent girl, but sometime in her late teens she became more reserved and gradually began to isolate herself. She lived in one of the less notable Black properties, a cottage in the Outer Hebrides. It wasn’t dirty or shabby by any means, both the house and the location it was in were quite beautiful, actually, but it was very secluded. Although, he supposed that made sense for her, as Aunt Cass barely spoke to anyone other than her cats. 

“Ah, Alphard,” she said, face barely moving. 

“Aunt Cass,” he greeted nervously. 

“I was just finding out where Mars had gotten off to, though I can see he’s made himself quite comfortable here, haven’t you, Mars?”

The cat purred softly as if it understood what she was saying, something that both amused and unsettled Alphard. Aunt Cass was harmless, of course, but there had always been something distinctly haunting about her he couldn’t pin down.

Sighing good-naturedly, she sat down across from Alphard and the cat stalked over to her, curling up in her lap. 

Not knowing what to say, Alphard settled for a timid smile. He hadn’t been expecting any company, least of all her, so he tried to break the silence with some small talk, “So, Aunt Cass, how have you been?”

She looked up at the question, that same vacant look in her eyes, “Oh, fine dear. I’ve just been preoccupied with the cats, same as always. Did you know Venus has a litter due sometime soon?”

“Er, no, I didn’t,”

“Yes, well, if you know anyone who’s looking for a new kitten, feel free to get in touch. I would keep them myself, but I think thirteen cats is a bit excessive.”

“I will, er, keep that in mind, Aunt Cass.”

She nodded absent-mindedly, returning her attention to the orange ball of fur in her lap. The next remark, benign as it was, caught Alphard off guard completely, “And you dear, how have you been? Anything on your mind?”

_Other than my impending demise, no not really,_ Alphard thought bitterly. Well, there was one matter. The question of what to do with his will. 

Before he’d run away from home, Alphard had named Sirius as his primary benefactor on event of his death. Had the boy had the decency to wait until after his uncle had snuffed it to jump out his bedroom window, it wouldn’t have been an issue. Now, however…things were a tad more complicated. 

Batting away these thoughts, he looked up to see Aunt Cass’s blinking at him owlishly. He cleared his throat, “Just, matters surrounding my estate.”

“Ah, yes, tedious business, that,” she replied, “I remember when Papa died, Pollux had to spend more than a few sleepless nights at Burke’s settling his will.”

He thought out his reply carefully, until settling on something he thought was vague enough to be truthful, yet not too revealing, “Yes, well, my situation is much the same. It’s not so much the legalese of it all, but rather the beneficiaries.”

“Walburga’s boy? The elder?” she petted her cat absent-mindedly, looking down at him as if she hadn’t just breached an extremely delicate topic. 

Though surprised, he supposed it didn’t take much for her to put it together. Batty as she was, Aunt Cass also tended to be annoyingly perceptive. 

“Yes, Sirius,” he sighed, resigned. 

"How much did you leave him?" 

"Most of it. Regulus already had the estate in Derbyshire from father, and seeing as he's now the heir, I figured he wouldn't need it."

She brushed a gray curl out of her face, "And the rest?"

"I had set some aside for Cissy, as she was the only one other than Sirius and Andy who ever paid me any mind. Not out of affection of course, probably just being polite. But now that she's married that perfumed ponce it seems rather useless," he replied, sneering at the mention of Lucius Malfoy.

"So you want to change it?"

"Yes. I would like to give it all to Sirius, but I'm sure you can appreciate how his... _absconding_ will have complicated the matter."

“I’m guessing you worry about Walburga's reaction to it.”

“Am I wrong to?”

“No, you aren’t,” she was still looking down at her cat, her wrinkled hands lightly stroking his fur, “It truly is a pity about him, isn’t it? Such a talented boy, and so handsome. He reminds me of my brother in his youth.” 

He laughed, “Really? Everyone says he inherited his temperament from Walburga, and she inherited hers from mother. Although I suppose he could've taken after father in some ways.”

“I’m not speaking of Pollux.”

At these words, Alphard's laughter died in his throat, and the room was thrown into an uncomfortable silence. Cass had stopped petting her cat, and was now looking out the windows intensely. He wasn't blind of course, he'd known her and father had had another sibling, although he never inquired about it. The scorch mark told him all he needed to know.

He'd first noticed it when he was a boy, during a visit to Grimmauld Place. He’d been trying to convince Orion to play exploding snap in the drawing room, only for his schoolmarm of a cousin to cluck about how it ‘wouldn’t be proper,’ and how they should ‘go to the bedroom for such activities.’ When he'd told him to stop being such a priss, 'Rion started sulking and promptly left the room.  He’d been so bored he started reading the tapestry only to find a scorch mark to the right of the name ‘Cassiopeia Black.’ When he’d asked father who it was, he’d simply looked up at the mark and replied, _‘A mistake.’_ Although, however much venom father had tried to put into those two words, there was something distinctly mournful about his tone he couldn’t hide, almost regretful. He hadn’t asked since, trying his best to forget about it, but every time he went back to Number Twelve his eyes were drawn to that same spot, to that disgraced uncle or aunt he’d never meet. 

“What was his name?” he asked, although the words came out as a barely audible whisper.

This time she looked up, eyes still vacant, but a grim frown set in her face, “Marius.”

For some reason, having a name to pin to the black mark on the tapestry made his mouth go dry, “What did he do?” 

“Nothing,” she replied, “That was precisely the problem. He was a squib.”

His jaw dropped in a very impolite manner, a thousand questions racing through his head, but Cassiopeia, sensing his confusion, started to explain.

“The first six years, mother and father didn’t really think much of it. Mother would say her sister hadn’t displayed any magic until she was 7, and that it was perfectly normal for some wizards’ abilities to manifest later than others. By the time he turned eight, however, things began to change,” she took in a breath, and Alphard noticed that her hands were shaking, “Father became much colder to him. He refused to bring him out with us any time we went to Diagon Alley, or parties, saying that until he showed himself to be a wizard, he wouldn’t be allowed walk amongst other wizards. Mother, while not as obviously disdainful, simply turned the other cheek at all this. Oh, how he would cry. He would cry and beg to leave the house, to do anything other than sit and wait, but they still didn’t let him out. As each year passed and father grew more impatient, Pollux and I tried to reassure him that Marius was a Black. That he was a true wizard, and that everything would change when his Hogwarts letter came,” When she spoke again, Alphard noted her voice was no longer airy, eyes no longer vacant, both filled with a resentment and a sorrow he’d never seen in her, “It never did.”

She continued, “Everyone was waiting for Marius’s letter. When we'd been informed that all the children his age had gotten theirs a week before...” She let out a shaky breath, eyes closing as if she was reliving the memory.

“Father raged, mother wept. Pollux looked so betrayed, as if Marius had shoved a knife into his back. I tried my best to defend him, but it was no use. Father dragged Marius away, and threw him out the front door as if he was some errant pup,” she blinked away the tears that had begun to spring in her eyes, “Marius begged and he begged, banging on the door so hard I thought those little hands of his would break, but no one payed him any mind. I couldn’t bear it any longer so I went to open the door, when father grabbed me by the arm and said that If I opened it, I would be as good as disowning myself. So, I kept still."

Alphard stared at her in abject horror, and tried to speak, but no words came out. He’d never liked Grandfather Cygnus, the man never did anything but drone on and on about the family legacy and criticize father for being too soft on his children, but he would have never thought him heartless and cruel enough to do that to one of his own children.

“Do you want to know what the worst of it is?” she whispered, “I had gold. My aunt Agatha, on my mother’s side, she died young and she left everything in her vault to me. I could’ve taken all of it, along with Marius and gone away. Gone far away, somewhere where he wouldn’t be thought of as a mistake, or an abomination. But I didn’t. Being burned off the tree was a fate worse than death to me, so I obeyed. Eventually, after he'd calmed down, Father went out to deal with him. He took him somewhere, I don't know where, but when he came back he simply told us that 'It was done'.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed this, and Alphard found himself looking at his aunt in a way he never had before. He didn’t blame her, not really. She’d been 15 years old and terrified, it wasn’t surprising that she chose her family. But now, seeing her like this, after knowing everything, it all made sense. The seclusion, the vacant stares, the airy voice. The ghost of her younger brother, the regret and self-loathing for having abandoned him, had turned her into this: A broken, lonely old woman. In her face, he found no trace of the charming and intelligent girl she’d been in her youth, only pain. A pain so unbearable, that it’d followed her around for almost 60 years. 

Breaking the silence, Cassiopeia looked at him, pleading in her eyes, “You mustn’t tell Pollux I told you any of this. He’s got more than enough to deal with at present, the last thing he needs right now is pain from the past being dredged up.”

Alphard nodded, “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone.”

Satisified, Aunt Cass got up, cradling Mars in her arms as if it was the babe she’d never had. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he turned around, and asked her, “Aunt Cass!”

She turned around right when her hand was on the door.

“What do I do?” 

She looked down at him with pity, “You must make that choice yourself, and live with it for the rest of your days,” she grasped the doorknob, opening the door to the Solarium before turning around once more, “As I have.”

The voice that spoke those last words sounded so haunted that it sent a chill down Alphard’s spine, and for a few seconds after the door closed the room was terribly silent, until another coughing fit came and Alphard found his hands clutching to the couch for dear life as it wracked his lungs. Gradually, they began to dissipate, and after what seemed a lifetime, it was silent again. 

He turned back to the view of the sea, listening to the waves crashing. Everything he’d heard, everything he’d uncovered. Two boys, one eleven and the other sixteen. Both lost, scared, alone. The difference was that were Sirius to come back, the doors of Grimmauld Place would be wide open. One could say many things about Walburga, but one thing that no one could dispute was that she loved her children. However, that was precisely the problem. Sirius wouldn’t come back, not willingly. He was too proud. He may be able to stay with friends for some time but that wouldn’t last, and though he may have had good marks, his nephew wasn’t going to be able to keep a job after school. However much Sirius fancied himself a man of the people, he was a Black through and through, not the type to follow rules unless he’d made them himself. Walburga would try to starve him out in order to get him back home, and the poor idiot would die before ever willing to. If Sirius wanted to come back, it would need to be on his own terms, not Burgie’s. 

And Cassiopeia…However short the ‘rest of his days’ may be, he wasn’t going to go to the grave like her, with regret weighing down his conscience. No, he knew what needed to be done. Walburga would hate him, and he would surely be blasted off the tapestry, but if there’s one thing he learned after the conversation with Aunt Cass, it was that there were worst fates than being blasted off the Black family tree. Either way, he hoped that one day, whether it be in a year or ten, that Walburga would understand why. That she would know that it wasn’t for a lack of love that he was doing this, but an abundance of it. That it was for her own good, as well as Sirius’s. 

He’d made his choice. 

He would send for Burke in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always feedback is heavily appreciated! 
> 
> FYI, the situation with Marius is much more complex than it may seem to Cassiopeia and Pollux. All I'll say is that I don't like writing (nor reading) flat, evil characters, and Marius's father (however minor he may be) is no exception to that rule...I may have plans for him in the future.


End file.
